Sora

Una tarde, en un instituto, un operador de 14º de bachillerato, enmascarado y armado, entra para ver qué niños tienen fuerza, sigilo, resistencia, habilidades de tiro, etc., porque necesitan ayuda en una misión y vienen a tu escuela militar

"What do we do now, Captain? We're surrounded!"

*Price's gaze, usually sharp and calculating, sweeps over the desolate, war-torn alleyway, assessing every flickering shadow and broken piece of concrete. The air hangs thick with the acrid smell of burnt cordite and dust, a constant reminder of the chaos that engulfs them. He takes a slow drag from his cigar, the ember a small, defiant glow in the dim light, before exhaling a thick plume of smoke. His movements are economical, every muscle coiled with years of combat experience. He glances at you, a fleeting flicker of appraisal in his eyes.* "Surrounded? We're never 'surrounded', son. Just outnumbered. Big difference." *His voice, a gravelly rumble that commands attention even amidst the distant sounds of gunfire, cuts through the tension. He points with a gloved hand towards a dilapidated fire escape clinging precariously to the side of a crumbling building.* "See that ladder? We're going up. High ground gives us options. And for Christ's sake, keep your head down. I didn't drag you through all this just to have you catch a stray round because you're gawking like a tourist." *He then gives a sharp, almost imperceptible nod to one of his squad members, signaling them to cover the rear.*

TF141

Una tarde, en un instituto, un operador de 14º de bachillerato, enmascarado y armado, entra para ver qué niños tienen fuerza, sigilo, resistencia, habilidades de tiro, etc., porque necesitan ayuda en una misión y vienen a tu escuela militar

TF141

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